


there’s a little shitty devil in my brain

by blessed_image



Series: bury a friend: umbrella academy fics [10]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Agender Number Five | The Boy, Blood, Crying, Cuddling, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Haemophobia, Hemophobia, Hurt/Comfort, Mental Breakdown, Number Five | The Boy Has Issues, Number Five | The Boy Needs A Hug, Panic Attacks, Platonic Cuddling, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, glass, no incest you fucking freaks, not explicit but u can kinda tell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-19
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-24 20:50:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,029
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18169703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blessed_image/pseuds/blessed_image
Summary: Five accidentally hurts themself on some discarded glass in the kitchen. Grace finds them and makes them realise it’s okay to not be okay.





	there’s a little shitty devil in my brain

**Author's Note:**

> read the tags!!!

It starts when they’re shuffling on the floor, scribbling notes and equations onto the hardwood of the floor; not really caring for what would be the consequences of their actions. Allison could shout all she wanted, Five really needed to get this all down and if they were to try to search for paper- they would definitely forget it all. The chalk was rough against the wood flooring, scraping against it in a way that would be annoying for most people.

 

Five doesn’t really pay attention.

 

That was the fact, at least. Before the chalk hit a small shard of glass, a small cling filling the silence as they stare at the two objects pressed together; and Five slowly raises their hand.

 

Their hand that had small scratches, grazes as well as blood pooling. A small droplet fell, soaking into the wood. Five blinks several times before pulling back, sitting on their knees and toes. A few small stings are picked up by their pain receptors, and they process the fact that their knees seem to also be pressing into glass.

 

“Oh.” is all they say, before scooting backwards to pull their knees from underneath them to study them. Glass is either pressed against or into the skin, due to the pressure from Five’s weight.

 

It takes a few seconds, but eventually their brain catches up completely; and they realise what had happened. During their excessive scribbling, they (oblivious to their surroundings, and frightening ability to ignore pain) had accidentally found themself in the middle of a circle of broken glass.

 

Shakily, Five reaches an unsteady two fingers to a shard in their hand- pulling until it pops out with a disgusting squelch. Dropping it, they examine the wound; frowning at the blood that slowly pours out of it.

 

Five bites at their lip nervously, glaring at the ichor with a feeling akin to fear.

 

Fear?

 

Shaking their head, they pull out more shards; ignoring the way the vibration in their wrists are close to impossible to control. Ignoring the way they freeze when they feel each of them move slightly. Ignoring the way they have to look away as they pull. Ignoring the way their breathing keeps picking up, not able to be brought back down; like a balloon just out of reach.

 

A small whimper escapes Five’s throat at the removal of a particularly stubborn piece lodged into their knee; looking away from the scene in discomfort, before taking a quick, hesitant glance at it.

 

The object is half crimson, Five’s fingers holding and covering a large portion of the clear half of the glass; making it seem a lot more bloody then it actually is from the angle they’re looking at it from. A hand slowly reaches up to their mouth, and they feel themself cringe at the feeling of bile rising up their throat.

 

They discard the glass, throwing it into the pile of other bloody fragments.

 

Swallowing a thick lump in their throat, they close their eyes in an attempt to push way the tears threatening to spill. They take a wobbly breath.

 

“Five?” a voice asks adjacent to them, a sweet and feminine voice that could only be possessed by their mother. Heels clack against the floor, getting closer by the second. “What’s wrong, dear?” she asks.

 

Five swallows down another lump, before attempting to speak; frowning when the words get stuck. At this, they just shake their head and whimper once more.

 

“Oh.” Grace whispers, and they can practically hear the frown in her voice. “Can I touch you?”

 

They appreciate the fact that she asked, Klaus and the rest of the circus siblings tended to just go for it without permission. Five rolls the question around in their mind, juggling the weight of every answer they could give. They nod, still refusing to open their eyes.

 

She tentatively presses a hand against their shoulder and sits on the floor beside them, softly tracing a circle before pulling them towards her. Grace coos at them as they let themself be pulled in; one arm wrapped around their shoulders, the other pressing their head into her chest.

 

“It’s okay to cry, darling.” Grace says in response to the sniffling and shaky intakes of air. Five grips at her dress, digging their face deeper into the material. “If you can’t cry in your mother’s arms, then when can you cry?” she laughs, patting their head.

 

Five’s hold tightens, creasing the material in their fist; lightening the force of their eyelids against eachother, lashes wet. Their eyes were starting to feel itchy anyway. They stay silent, though.

 

“Are you hurt?” Grace asks into this silence, rubbing a kind hand against their shoulder in repetitive movements. Five nods. “Your knees? What about your hands?” another nod. She sighs. “Diego was supposed to clean that up, he did promise.”

 

“Idiot.” Five murmurs, smiling at the rumble of laughter they recieve from that. Their mother leans her chin against their scalp, humming in content.

 

“Grace?” they ask.

 

The humming is beautiful and carries on for a few seconds. “Hm?”

 

“I’m sorry.” Five whispers, sniffling again. She shushes them.

 

“You don’t have to apologise for your emotions, Five. You never have to apologise for that.” She pulls back and smiles. “You don’t have to apologise anymore, Five.”

 

They open their eyes finally, taking in the pearly whites she presents to them; before nodding.

 

“And...” she starts, reaching a hand into their hair and smoothing it back. “...call me Mum.”

 

Five’s eyes let loose at this, tears falling shamelessly; and a sob rips away from their tongue. Grace just frowns, removing the hand from their hair to instead hold both hands on their cheeks.

 

“You’re okay, Five.” she wipes at their tears. “You’re okay now.” she nods to them, before pulling them back into her chest. “I’m not going to let you get hurt again.” Grace promises.

 

Five nods back into her dress, listening to her words like prayer.

 

“Thanks...” they cry, trying not to be too loud. “...Mum.” she hums, rocking slightly.

 

“You’re okay.” Grace promises again, and for the first time in Five’s life: they actually believe it.

 

**Author's Note:**

> thank u for reading!!! this is fluff right?


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